


Steady Now

by Sounead



Series: Tales of a Broken Teacup [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Child Abuse, Dogs, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Possessive Hannibal, References to past cannibalism, Second Chances, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sounead/pseuds/Sounead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deal makes Hannibal come back in 1974, Lithuania, just hours before Mischa's death. The deal came with two conditions: no killing nor cannibalism. He thought reliving his life would be a piece of cake, even with the restrictions, but he didn't anticipate the complications that would come with it.</p><p>(Post 2x13: Mizumono)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is not beta-ed. I'm looking for a serious beta, who's ready to correct grammar and flow! I've already written 15k, and it's not finished yet.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

 

His heart hurt.

It had begun since he smelled Freddie Lounds on Will. It had been quite a strange sensation, that sudden tightening in his chest. It had made him stop and try to breathe, feeling confused before the sheer feeling of rage took over.

Rage over Will. Rage over _himself_.

The sense of betrayal had cut him deep, deeper that he’d would have ever thought. More than that, he had foolishly thought that hurting them all, killing them all, would appease his heart but it _didn’t_. Even now, sitting in the plane with the Doctor du Maurier by his side, his heart still hurt. It was strange, it was bothersome, and most of all it was incomprehensible. Forty-eight years old, and he was experiencing for the first time a completely genuine heartbreak.

It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

Will’s face kept coming back to him. His blood flowing out of him, his weight covering him. His hand, coming up and gripping him. His weak breath on his neck. His tears…

He didn’t feel any regret. Hannibal Lecter just did not _have_ regrets. Hannibal Lecter calculated his chances and took decisions to keep himself alive and free. Hannibal Lecter did not need regrets, because Hannibal Lecter always managed to reach his goals; and yet, his hand moved and took Bedelia’s, as if he needed the contact.

Yet, he knew he had lost everything in the course of a single evening.

When he closed his eyes, he was back in his kitchen, Will in his arms. He could pretend for a second Will wasn’t dying, hadn’t betrayed him, had forgiven him. He could pretend, just for a second, that Will was going to following him and Abigail. But no, it was too late; the both of them were dead, and Hannibal had to reconstruct his life.

When he opened his eyes, it was to a completely different world.

For a moment, he wondered he had fallen asleep and started dreaming. The air was stale, the plane had stopped flying, not a single thing was moving. He stared quite astonished at Bedelia, who had stopped breathing. She was still as a painting, her face turned to him, eyes lowered with something akin to sadness. Their hands were still together and yet Hannibal didn’t feel the heat of her skin. He looked out of the window; it seemed the plane was frozen in place in the sky.

Everything, in fact, was frozen.

He separated from Bedelia and looked over in the plane. As expected, everyone else were also still as statues. Passengers stuck in their seats, flight attendants stopped in their movements. Not a sound, not a single breath was to be found. Even spilled water from a glass was frozen in the air. He tried to touch it and his finger came back as dry as it was first.

What a strange dream to have.

He walked down the plane until he reached the rear of it. This was an exceedingly long dream; an exceedingly lucid one, too. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it were really a dream or if he had stepped in another universe. At this point, it could have been possible.

“Yes, it is strange, isn’t it?”

Hannibal started. The voice had come two rows from him. In between two blinks, the plane cleared out of every single passenger but a woman. She was an Indian woman, somewhat old in an indiscernible way. Her long black hair was plaited and she was toying with it, watching curiously Hannibal. A seat was facing her and she made motion to it for him to sit down. After debating for a second, he complied.

“Hello there, young man. I hope I didn’t scare you too much.”

It took him a while to find his voice back. “Not scared as much as surprised.”  

She smiled in apology. She reached for a teacup that wasn’t there before and took a sip. Hannibal then watched his hand, which he was _sure_ was empty two seconds ago. He wondered if it was safe to drink from it.

“Of course,” said the woman unprompted. “I wouldn’t be so rude as to serve you poisoned tea. It’s delicious, really; it will do you good.”

Well, since it was most likely a dream, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to try it. Hannibal took a sip and hummed; it was truly delicious. He felt his body heat over and get weightless; his chest liberated.

“What is going on?” he finally murmured. “This isn’t a dream, isn’t it?”

“No, dear. It’s as real as it can be. Finish up your tea.”

He took his time to drink it all, pondering how to open the conversation. “How do you know my name, Mrs…”

“I know a lot of things, Hannibal.” She smiled and looked through the window; they were still in the ear, stuck in time. Even the clouds were unmoving. “My name is of no importance. You will forget it as soon as you’d hear it, anyway; just like you will forget my face as soon as you turn away from me. Humans cannot grasp things of our nature.”

So she wasn’t human. God, maybe. He didn’t believe in any deity, but he had to face the evidence; and she had talked in plural, too. He swallowed.

If he were to be weak as a human, he could at least admit he wished Will was here. He wished Will could know about the woman and be here, by his side. He didn’t want to face her alone. He remembered his heat, when he would get close to him –so close, he could almost hear his thoughts.

The woman turned to him, surprised. “I didn’t expect you to get so humble so quickly.”

“Am I.” It was starting to get unnerving, how she seemed to read him like an open book. He had to take matter in hands, somehow. “What is going on? Is this a divine punishment? What are you going to do?”

“Aren’t you a talkative one?” The woman laughed and crossed her legs. She leaned of her seat and observed him. “Well, dear, you shouldn’t worry. I won’t do anything, really. It is entirely up to you.”

“Meaning?”

“I have a deal for you.” She then stayed quiet. She bore a thoughtful expression on her face; Hannibal suddenly realized she actually was quite beautiful. It seemed strange how belatedly it came to him, as if it took all this time to get to see her. “I usually do not mingle with humans,” she continued, with an affable voice. “None of us do. But you are a special case, and I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

Hannibal’s heart started beating way too hard. His cup of tea filled up by itself and he drank to drown his uneasiness.

“I observed you for a long time. You are an intriguing thing, so small and yet so powerful. It was my own fault, really, for letting you do this for so long. I had hoped, maybe, that you would stop by yourself. I had hoped Mr Graham would change you –and he did, really, but not the way I wanted him to.” She sighed. “Maybe I should have acted a long time ago…”

“Mrs-” He was sure she could hear his heartbeat. He took a moment too take his cool back. “Why?” he finally said. Why me, why now, _why_.

“I get bored, sometimes.”

He waited, but she didn’t develop. He suddenly felt rage and annoyance at her. _Bored_? She laughed at him.

“Sorry.”

“No, you aren’t.” he said, feeling bold.

“No, I am not. What can I say? You humans are an interesting bunch. I’m just lucky I stumbled upon you one day. It is not often I get to meet a soul as fascinating as yours.” She shrugged. “Let’s talk about the deal, shall we?”

“Be my guest.” What was she going to propose? Will’s face flashed before his eyes. Maybe…

“Oh dear boy, no.” She had a pity expression. “I can’t do that, he’s not of my jurisdiction. However, I can give you back Mischa.”

The plane disappeared. His heart stopped. Suddenly, he was holding her hands and squeezing them so hard, he expected to break them –and yet, nothing happened. The world seemed to change on its axis; nothing existed anymore but the woman, and him, and Mischa, Mischa _, Mischa_.

The woman starred at him, bemused.

“Really Hannibal, I didn’t even tell you the deal yet.”

“I don’t care, I accept.”

“Don’t you even want to know what you’ll have to give up before deciding?”

“ _I. don’t. care._ ”

He was seething. Every second that passed was a second without Mischa. He didn’t even ask himself if the woman really could give her back to him; now that she had laid down the possibility, he couldn’t bear to have it seen taken away.

“Alright, alright” she laughed. “There are my conditions, then. If you do not abide by them, I will take Mischa away –”

“I’d like to see you _try._ ”

 His mouth shut down. He tried to growl in anger but it didn’t work; as if the woman had taken away his ability to move his vocal cords. She tut-ed.

“As I said, _if_ you do not abide by them, I will take her away. It wouldn’t be much of a deal if I didn’t get something out of it, now, would it?” She waited for his nod then continued. “If you do not kill nor consciously eat anyone, you will get to keep her. Otherwise, she will be lost forever.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. With a blink, she gave him back his voice. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That can’t be.” His mind tried to find any loophole “It can’t be that easy.”

“Is it really? Well, then you’re all set.”

She let his hands go. With a satisfied sigh, she closed her eyes and started to hum.

“Wait.” She arched an eyebrow at his interruption. “Why do you care?”

Her laughter seemed to be ripped out from her by surprise. Her eyes opened. A world was hidden in her pupils, deep into the darkness.

“Well, isn’t that presumptuous of you.” She closed her eyes again. “Let’s just say the consequences of one of your actions have greatly disturbed one of my little projects.”

And with that, the world disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2 **

A cry awoke him.

His eyes opened to darkness. He frowned at the ceiling, which certainly wasn’t the one of a plane. His breathing was labored, as if someone was sitting on his chest, and his stomach… he was so _hungry_. He hadn’t felt hunger this badly since… since…

He rose up so quickly his head swam a bit. His hand appeared in front of his eyes and his suspicion was confirmed: it was small. A small hand for a small body. The body of a _child_. Had he been another man, he would have already swore in a hundred different ways. As it was, he only swallowed and gingerly touched his finger tips one by one. They were so _small_ and still untouched, no scars nor burns. He touched his face, his chest, looked at his feet –as strange as it was, he had come back to his child body. His nine-year-old body, it seemed.

Then, he remembered the cry. With trepidation, he looked around him and… there.

_Mischa._

She was as angelic as he remembered. Even in the midst of of hunger and dirtiness, she was perfect. His little sister, his Mischa, alive. Crying, cold, hungry, but alive. She was besides him, sleeping on the ground and shivering. ****

Gingerly, he took her in his arms. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until a dying sound left his throat. His body was shaking and everything hurt, but it didn’t matter because Mischa was there, with him. It was unbelievable, it was completely crazy and yet…

The memory of a woman came back to him. He couldn’t remember her face nor her voice, but he knew the most important thing. It was carved into his core, resounding in his head in an undestinguishable voice. _Don’t kill anyone. Don’t eat anyone._

“Mischa,” he whispered. “Mischa, wake up.”

It came to him after a while that he was talking in English. He tried again in Lithuanian; the words estranged to him.

“Mischa, my love, my star, wake up for me.”

His intestines twisted around like snakes. What if Mischa were taken away in her sleep? His heart felt ready to give out, but then Mischa woke up with a whine. Her eyes were even bluer than in his memory.

“Hanni…”

A sob escaped him again. He kissed his little sister (alive, alive, _alive_ ) on her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids as they blinked sleepily.

“Hanni, I’m scared.” Her voice was weak and yet still so powerful to his ears.

“It’ll be alright. I’m here now. I’m here.”

If his words confused her, she didn’t let on. He put her on his lap and gently rocked her. He wasn’t ready to let her go. He had lived forty years without her in his arms; surely he could be excused for not letting her go now.

How did this happen? He had been an adult just seconds ago, in a world where Mischa had been dead for years. In the time of a blink, he had been in a plane to France in 2013, and now he found himself in the deepest part of Lithuania in 1974. Mischa gripped his neck and breathed a hot wave on his skin. He put his hand on her forehead and determined she was running a fever. Suddenly, it came back to him: shortly after the fever, the _men_ had arrived.

Fury arose in him. He was going to kill them. Before they would even _dare_ think about hurting Mischa they would already be six feet under the ground, maggots festering on their flesh and forgotten to the world, monsters that they were, unworthy to breathe the open air...

“Anni!”

His sister’s cry made him come back to reality. She was fussing in his arms, battling against the strong squeeze he had inadvertently made. Just as he relaxed his grips, the woman’s admonishment resonated in him: don’t kill anyone or Mischa will disappear.

He swallowed with difficulty. He hated to think these _men_ (monsters, lower than dirt, lower than everything on this earth and hell and back) would continue living, but he couldn’t risk losing Mischa. Not after living a whole life without her. He petted her hair and made his decision.

“My Mischa, we have to go.”

“No!”

“Mischa, my love, we can’t stay here.”

“But daddy and mommy…”

As she spoke, memories flew back to him –their parents, being killed while he hid with Mischa in a cupboard. He had heard their screams. He hadn’t dared to get out until he was sure the men wouldn’t come back. By then, his parents had been dead for hours. Their bodies were somewhere outside, in the snow. He considered for a second taking their meat, but he couldn’t dare. The woman’s conditions were already starting to get onto his nerves.

Oh well, they must have rotten by now anyway.

“We have to leave,” he repeated with force. “Come.”

He stood up and staggered. It was strange to see the world from this height. He had to get used again to this body again; this weak, small, useless body. He couldn’t wait to grow back into the perfect vessel he had built in his last life.

Was that it? A past life? As he took his sister’s hand and led her out of their home, he wondered what it all meant. Maybe he had hit his head. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he was dreaming, stuck in a coma. If that was the case, he hoped he would never wake up. A million hallucinations of Mischa being alive were better than anything else.

After all, what good would it be to return to a life where Mischa, Will, and Abigail were dead?

Quickly, he took what he knew would help them on their journey. If he remembered it well, there was a cabin some miles away they could hide for the upcoming storm. They stepped out and started walking, without a last look to their little house. Dream or not, the cold was biting into his skin. He took Mischa under his arm and tried as much as he could to give her some warmth.

And they walked, walked, walked.

\--

 

Two hours later, Mischa fainted. They had walked without respite, only slowing down when Mischa had complained about her feet. Every so often, Hannibal would glance at her, taking in the sight of her like a parched man. His sister. Mischa. Whole and alive. He still couldn’t believe it and if his hand wasn’t already busy with holding hers, he would be pinching himself over and over.

She was so small, so young. Somehow, he had forgotten she was only four, and that small tired feet combined with an empty stomach could only get them so far. When she fell into the snow and didn’t rise back, he panicked. She was still breathing, although with difficulty. Her skin was freezing. Her body was shaking with tremors. He thought of carrying her but he doubted he had any strength left. The cold and hunger was getting to him just as badly. ****

He had horribly miscalculated.

They had to eat, and quickly. And find warmth. And, and, and...

Tears were rolling down his face without his consent. His ribcage heaved with sobs so violently he feared a moment he was going to puke. What a bitter thing it was to get Mischa back and to lose her again so quickly. He didn’t even tell her yet she was only thing that was important, that _mattered_ , in this world. He was so weak, so small, so useless, he couldn’t save her, _again_. He had acted harshly, stuck in the fear of seeing the monsters come creeping out of the shadows of his memory to steal away Mischa again, only to have her stolen by a different fate.

It was too cruel.

Trying to calm down, he looked around. As he expected, there was nothing but trees and snow. He had taken with him a knife from the house, but what good would it be if there was nothing to cut? Unless…

He watched his feet.

Unless. The woman had talked about _him_ not eating human meat. She hadn’t said anything about Mischa. He could do it. He could do it, for Mischa. Cutting a foot wouldn’t be so important, in the grand scheme of things. And surely, she would forgive him forcing her into being a cannibal. After all, it was a matter of life and death; it wouldn’t be so bad as long as she lived, right? And in the worst of cases, a bitter Mischa would be way better than a dead Mischa.

However, cutting a foot would slow them down and he wasn’t sure he could cauterize the wound, even with all this snow. Maybe he should cut something smaller, like one of his fingers. They were so small, though. It wasn’t enough. Maybe more than one? Two fingers? It could be enough until they found some food. If he managed to build some fire, she could nibble on them without too much difficulty.

He sat down near Mischa and stared at his fingers with resolve. Should he cut them before she wakes up? … If she ever wakes up. He shook her and called her, but she didn’t move. He took some snow and put it on her lips.

“Wake up,” he chanted. He could vaguely realize his voice was getting hysterical but it didn’t matter. “My love, my Mischa, wake up, wake up.”

Mischa moaned. He encouraged her until she opened unseeing eyes. He tried a reassuring smile.

“Mischa, you’re going to eat, ok?” She didn’t seem to understand his words. “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

He inhaled and approached his knife to his left little finger. He reconsidered: the thumb would be better. More meat. Inconvenient, but it was a sacrifice he was ready to make. Or, maybe he should cut part of his arm instead. He didn’t have any fat, but there would be more to cut and make her eat. He bit his lip and tried to make a decision. Why was it so hard? He spent a lifetime cooking people, how come he couldn’t stop his hestitation?

“Anni…” whispered Mischa, her eyes feverously stuck on something behind him.

He turned around. Standing ten feet away from them, like an apparition, a man was watching them. He was tall and frightening, but Hannibal was sure he's never seen him before. He seemed kind of strange, as if he didn’t _belong_. Better safe than sorry, though, so Hannibal hid Mischa behind him and got ready to protect her. He couldn’t kill the man, but he could hurt him if he needed to... Just a tendon in his foot, to keep him from moving.

“What are you doing here, kids?” asked the man, his voice strangely strong against the wind. “Where are your parents?”

Hannibal didn’t answer. A thousand courses of actions filled his mind but none seemed wise.

“Come on,” the man said after a while. “I’ll take you both with me.”

“No,” Hannibal spat. “Go away.” ****

“So rude.” The man was laughing. “You’re brave, I like that. But you need help, you and your girl.”

He started walking towards them. Hannibal stood even straighter, trying to ignore the fact he didn’t have a lot of strength left.

“Stay back!”

“I don’t think so, no.” The man kept inexorably walking, his smile getting bigger and bigger with each step.

“I said,” screamed Hannibal with all of his strength, “Stay. BACK!”

“And I say,” answered quietly the man just as he reached him. “Sleep.”

 

And so Hannibal slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EDW for your beta work and all your encouragements!! Next chapter next week, the wait won't be as long this time :) (sorry about that by the way) You can find my on my tumblr [sounead](http://sounead.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dubious consent in this chapter (in clear: child abuse). Thank you Ik for your beta work!

**Chapter 3**

 

He woke up under warm covers and to the smell of onion soup. He didn’t understand at first what was going on. Mischa was next to him, sleeping peacefully, her forehead not as warm as before and her breathing smoother. He stroked her hair and kissed her temple, inhaling lightly. She smelled earthy.

“Awake yet?” rumbled a voice behind him.

Hannibal sat up abruptly to the man’s amusement. He looked for his knife; it had disappeared.

“Calm down, kid. I won’t hurt you, or your sister.”

How did he know Mischa was his sister? He looked around him; they were in a small cabin. The man was sitting at a table across the room, watching them with mirth in his eyes. Hannibal returned his glaze, trying to be as menacing as he could, an attempt that was probably pathetic with his child body.

“It is pathetic,” agreed the man “and yet still brave. I like that.”

“How-”

“That woman isn’t the only one with a trick up her sleeve.”

For a moment, the man’s words had no meaning. What woman? Then, it came back to him ( _don’t kill, don’t eat_ ) and Hannibal found himself one more time speechless. It made sense, in a way; there was no other explanation as to why he had fallen asleep so easily to an order. Did that mean the man was also a god? After all, the woman had spoken in plural. _I do not usually mingle with humans. None of us do._

Unconsciously, he took Mischa’s hand and squeezed it.

“You do not have to worry,” said the man, eyeing their hands. “I won’t separate the both of you.”

“Why did you help us?”

“She interfered, so I thought I could interfere too.” His smile had a dangerous edge. “It wouldn’t be so fair if I hadn’t, would it?”

Hannibal frowned.

Obviously, the two… gods?... had a game and he was at the center of it. He worried his lip. This wasn’t good news, to be the toy of two powerful beings, and yet he couldn’t feel sorry for it. Without them, he wouldn’t have Mischa by his side.

The man had turned his back to him to check the pan. The cabin was nice, a bit empty, but functional. A fire was blazing in the chimney and outside Hannibal could see snow falling down into a storm. He laid down again. A feeling of safety was battling with decades with being on his guard. He schooled his breathing into submission while watching the ceiling.

Beside him, Mischa mumbled in her sleep.

“What is the price for this,” he finally asked to the man, “for saving us?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Though I did refuse your help,” pointed Hannibal. “I can’t pay back for something I didn’t take.”

“No, you can’t indeed,” agreed the man. “But you can pay back for the help I will give you to keep you and your sister alive until the end of the storm.”

Hannibal slowly inhaled. “Fair enough.”

He could refuse the help, of course, but he knew it would be fruitless. He had to keep Mischa safe and sound, which was something he couldn’t do when stuck in the middle of a storm without any food. At this thought, his stomach rumbled with hunger. He remembered the smell of onion soup and licked his lips.

“Wake up your sister and come eat, kid.”

“I’m not actually a child.” However, Hannibal complied.

The sight of Mischa’s opened and clear eyes was a salve to his heart. She smiled at him and he couldn’t stop himself from reciprocating. He kissed her forehead and encouraged her to sit up. The man had prepared the table and was waiting for them to join him.

“Say good evening to the man, Mischa. He saved us.”

“Good evening, mister,” she dutifully mumbled. Hannibal smirked –he had forgotten how shy she would get with strangers. He took her hand and helped her on the high chair. She was salivating at the sight of food, something he couldn’t help himself from doing too. He took his seat and waited for the man to open the diner.

“Such good manners, the both of you. Please, do eat.”

Mischa didn’t need to be asked twice. Hannibal showed a bit more of restrain, to the amusement of the man. Halfway through dinner, Mischa started babbling about the food, the dream she had, their house. His heart was soaring. He didn’t remember ever been this happy in his entire life.

A hand in his hair made him start. The man was petting him like a dog; Hannibal growled at him, which made the man roar with laughter. Mischa joined him, her giggle a symphony to Hannibal’s ears. He looked at his plate and swallowed back the feeling that wanted to take over his body, his mind, everything. His chest hurt again, the same sort of pain he had experienced when he still believed Will had been his.

He wondered how long this happiness would last before it would be taken away from him, again.

\--

 

That night, while Mischa was soundly sleeping under the covers, Hannibal was sitting on the man’s lap, naked as his first day on this earth. It was a small price to pay, he kept repeating to himself. As long as Mischa didn’t wake up, it didn’t matter. Their bodies moving didn’t matter, the sweat on his back didn’t matter, the pain didn’t matter. There was a hand in his hair. Breathing on his neck. Teeth in his skin. It wasn’t his first time, he was consenting, it was alright –

Mischa moved. Hannibal stared at her form, terrified. His nails dug into the man’s skin. He tried so hard not to whimper. Fortunately, Mischa kept sleeping and the man finished soon enough.

The man didn’t let him go for a while. Even though the cabin was heating up, Hannibal felt cold in his bones. The position was uncomfortable but he had sworn he wouldn’t resist to anything the man would do to him. He just hoped he could wash up and sleep a bit before the end of the night. The man had promised to lead them to a town when it was all over; he even promised another meal before they left. Mischa had been so happy at the news that Hannibal hadn’t had the heart to refuse, even though he knew it would double the price to be paid.

As long as she lived, it was worth it. Nothing else mattered, nothing, nothing.

Finally, the man pulled apart from him and let him go. Hannibal wobbled on his feet and ran to the toilet. He let the door open to observe the man and assure himself of Mischa’s safety while he washed himself. The smell of sex wouldn’t leave, even after scrubbing down again and again, so Hannibal let it go and joined his sister in the bed. The man had fallen asleep in his chair. Hannibal entertained the thought of killing him, of making him pay but…

It didn’t matter. It was worth it.

With this mantra repeating in his head, he fell asleep to nightmares and fear.

\--

 

Hannibal woke up with somebody snuggled up to him. At first, he was confused about the heat, trying to remember if he had taken somebody home last night; then a glimpse of blond hair made him shiver.

Mischa.

The last two days came back to him. Involuntary, he smiled and flopped back on the bed. A laugh wanted to break out of him –and when was the last time he even wanted to _laugh_? He peaked under the cover to observe his sister. She was sleeping, as calm as a little angel. Her steady breath was the most beautiful music he’s ever heard.

He considered smothering her with kisses to wake her up. She would smile at him –she always did. And then she would demand even more kisses and breakfast.

Breakfast.

He shot out of bed. That was it. Years and years of cooking, of practicing, just for this moment. He was going to cook for his baby sister, to _feed_ her, make her so happy with something he would have made just for her. He speeded through his washing up and then hunted down in the kitchen to make her the best meal she’d ever have.

That was when it dawned on him that the man wasn’t there.

He looked around. Where did he go? He couldn’t have stepped out in that storm –although, surely a storm couldn’t stop a godly creature. Hannibal frowned while taking everything he needed for pancakes and put himself to work. He didn’t like the man. He didn’t like the fact he couldn’t have the upper hand with him, and he didn’t like having sex with him.

He scowled at his batter and whipped it viciously. He should be thinking about Mischa instead of that old pervert.

Mischa… she was going to be so happy about the pancakes. It was a miracle he had all the ingredients and then some more. That cabin was even better than he first thought. The man must have been stocking in accordance with the storm.

As he prepared the fire, he hummed with something akin to joy. He always loved to cook, obviously, but this time it was even more precious. He was cooking for _Mischa_. Not for himself, not for guests, not for his dear Will –but Mischa, only Mischa.

It was as Will had said, some time ago –before his incarceration, before he knew. Hannibal had invited him for dinner and Will had arrived a bit too early. He had sat in his kitchen and watched him work. When the plates had been prepared and the table set up, Will had said –

 

_“You put a lot of love in your cooking.”_

_–and Hannibal had frozen, just for a second. He had never considered he’d put love in his cooking. Effort, concentration, pleasure, yes, but never love. It had bothered him a bit. Will didn’t noticed._

_“Like…” he had continued, after two beats. “Like you’re cooking with somebody in mind.”_

_“Well, I do think about my guests when I cook,” Hannibal had admitted, fork deep into the meat of a lawyer who had been particularly unpleasant to Mrs. Komeda the other day. “I thought about you.”_

_“No, it’s something else.” Will mulled this over, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like you’re waiting for somebody in particular to eat what you prepare.”_

 

And that had been that. Hannibal hadn’t thought of this particular evening until now. As he finished with the pancakes, the statement finally made sense. All this time, he was cooking for Mischa. Mischa, whom he hadn’t been able to feed.

All his time, he was just wishing to rewind time and to present her a meal that would appease her ever empty stomach.

“Hanni?”

Little arms gripped him around his hips and a face snuggled against him. Hannibal immediately killed the fire and turned to his little sister to take her in his arms. She was lightweight, but his small arms had next to no strength, so he strained to lift her.

“Good morning, love.” He kissed her ear.

Mischa giggled into the side of his neck, then squirmed, compromising Hannibal’s grip even further so as to make him readjust her weight in his arms.

“What are you cooking?”

“It’s a surprise. Did you wash up yet?”

“Noooo…”

He pushed her to the bathroom with the promise breakfast would be done when she got out. He added syrup, some fruit (how on earth the man had found strawberries in the middle of winter was a mystery) and decorated the plates in his usual artistic manner. As expected, Mischa came back running just when he finished. Her hands were even still a bit wet.

“ _Bon appétit_.”

She attacked her plate without waiting any second later. Hannibal, however, took his time. The pancakes were exquisite, but Mischa’s expression of bliss was even more. He drank in her rosy cheeks.

Then, the door was pushed open by the man. Mischa squeaked in pleasure; Hannibal shivered and felt his heart speed up. He froze on his chair and kept staring at his plate.

Playtime was over.

He flinched when the man touched his shoulder.

“What do I see? Pancakes? How delightful.”

“It’s delicious!” cried Mischa. “Want some?”

She shook her fork. The man laughed and grabbed her hand to eat the piece of pancake. Hannibal thought he was going to be sick.

“You can have my plate,” he quickly offered.

The man smirked at him but let Mischa’s hand go. Hannibal found it easier to breathe. When Mischa finished her plate, he persuaded her to help him with the dishes. However, just as they were getting started, the man sent Mischa away to play with a doll.

Hannibal gripped the soapy plates and tried as hard as he could to ignore the big hands that were enveloping his small hips.

“The storm will last three days,” the man whispered in his ear. “I hope your _help_ will be worth the trouble.”

He licked his neck. Hannibal jerked away, only succeeding in hitting the sink painfully. The man laughed and let him go, before turning around and leaving Hannibal trying not to heave too loudly for Mischa to hear.

\--

 

The town was small and deserted. Keeping Mischa’s hand tight in his, Hannibal followed the man as fast as he could.

As expected, they had been stuck for three days in the cabin. The man had taken care of them, feed them with food that left Hannibal wondering where it came from; and at night, he would take Hannibal over and over again. Hannibal had thanked all the gods here and back again for not letting Mischa wake up to see them. Every time his backside hurt, every time a feeling of uneasiness overwhelmed him, he would look at her rosy cheeks and her smile. It was _worth it_.

When the storm had stopped, Mischa had cried she didn’t want to leave. She was terrified to go back to the cold, to the hunger, to the fear. Hannibal hadn’t even hesitated before trying to set up a deal with the man, but he found himself refused. The man had stated he was getting bored with his little body and that he didn’t desire to take care of two children forever. Unless, of course, he would let him play with his dear little sister…

A sniffing took him away of his thought. Mischa had started crying again. Without stopping his pace, he took her in his arms and shushed her sadness, coddling her and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Slowly, she calmed down.

He would kill himself before letting anything happen to her.

“We’re here.”

They had arrived in front of an inn. Inside, there was only a bored woman, watching the floor while trying to forget her misfortune. The sound of the bell made her rise her head and smile. She would have been pretty, if it weren’t for the too little food she had these past months making her face gaunt with hunger. The man talked with her, gesticulating to Hannibal and Mischa, while the woman nodded. He gave her some money and gestured Hannibal to come.

“I will leave now. We won’t ever see each other again.” The man breathed then added, like an afterthought: “Take care, kid.”

He left. Mischa watched him go, crying softly again. She would forget him soon enough, thought Hannibal without worry; already he himself couldn’t even recall the man’s face. The woman, named Anna, led them into a room and told them they would stay there until the men from the orphanage were going to get them. Hannibal was expecting it and yet, it still made his stomach clench.

He forced his breathing to slow down.

“Hanni?” Mischa was sitting on the bed, watching him.

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you make me princess tresses?”

That made him pause. It wasn’t terms he was familiar with, but he remembered the simple braid his mother used to put in Mischa’s hair; it was probably to what she was referring. He never had any occasion to make them in his past life, however. Even when Abigail lived with him, he never needed to take care of her hair. He sat on the bed anyway, offered a smile to his adored little sister and agreed. Maybe the memory of his mother’s deft fingers would help him.

As he braided her hair, he finally let himself think about the whole situation. They were out of danger, for now. Next would come the orphanage, which had been a miserable time of his life but at least, he hadn’t died of hunger. This time around he had Mischa with him and without the grief of his sister’s death looming over him it wouldn’t be so horrid. They just had to wait for Uncle Robert and Lady Murasaki to find them. As soon as he could get some paper and a pen, he will send them a letter. If everything went along his plans Mischa and he would only stay in the orphanage for a few months.

A small tremor passed through his body. What if he couldn’t contact his uncle? What if somebody took Mischa away from him? What if he woke up and realized this was just all a dream? It all felt so real, so tangible… The return to his old life would be more than unbearable. Now that he had Mischa in his arms again, he couldn’t even fathom trying to live again without her.

No. No, he would protect her and stay by her side this time. He would do anything for her, even if he couldn’t kill anymore. He was Hannibal Lecter, for god’s sake; he could do _anything_ as long as he put his mind onto it. Just because he couldn’t erase his problems as easily as before didn’t mean it was all over. He had a chance to do it right and he wouldn’t let it pass.

“There you go, princess.”

Mischa patted her hair. Her smile disappeared and an offended frown took place on her lovely face.

“That’s not a princess tress.”

Hannibal eyed it. It seemed alright to him. “Well, you do look like a princess.”

And it held in place, which he considered it to be quite a feat.

“But it’s not like mommy used to do it.” Her lips wobbled and her eyes shone. “I miss mommy. I want mommy, and daddy, and I want to go home!” She wailed the last words, making them almost impossible to understand.

Panic wanted to rise in his mind. She had been alright only a second ago! Were children’s emotions always so fickle? Maybe only hunger and exhaustion had prevented her from breaking down until now. He didn’t even think that she was completely aware of the signification of death; after all, she was only four years old.

“Mischa… mommy and dad won’t come back. They can’t.”

“Why?” Her fat tears were unstoppable. Awkwardly, Hannibal hugged her and stroked her back.

“They can’t.” She was truly sobbing now, her body heaving as she buried herself into his awkward embrace. “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry.”

He wasn’t really. He was mostly sorry she couldn’t stop crying.  He didn’t really care for his parents; they had been dead for most of his life. He had already mourned them –well, as much mourning as he had allowed himself. He never truly felt the need to mourn anyone.

Well, apart from Mischa, who was the exception -as always, just like he used terms of endearment for her so easily, without even thinking about it. He had wondered his whole life what sort of brother he would have grown up to be and now he could finally have an answer.

“I’ll take care of you.” He finally whispered. I’ll always be with you.”

“Promise?” she sobbed in his neck, between two wails.

“Promise.”

\--

 

They dined that night with Anna, who seemed happy enough to share the little she had with her two little customers. She tried to make them talk about what happened to them, but Hannibal stayed silent and Mischa followed his lead. So Anna talked a lot to fill in the silence, narrating the life of her village and how a long time ago, people had quickly abandoned their homes to go to war and never came back. She deplored the death of her husband without a single note of sadness in her voice. Hannibal easily understood the husband had been a no-good for nothing man, drunker than a barrel, but the insinuation got past Mischa. Fortunately, she was too busy eyeing Hannibal’s plate while trying not to be too obvious. He gave half of it to her.

“What a good brother you are,” remarked Anna at his gesture, “Make sure to thank him, princess.”

Mischa beamed at him. She looked so happy; he couldn’t bear to think how she would fare in the orphanage, surrounded by the gray walls and the constant air of depression and despair.

“May I send a letter?” he abruptly asked, letting down his fork.

“Sure. Where to?” Anna got up to look for a paper and a pen.

“France. We have an uncle, who will take us.”

“We do?” exclaimed Mischa, mouth still full of food. Hannibal frowned and gently admonished her manners.

“France?” Anna came back to the table with the necessary material. “Would a letter even reach them?”

Well, he had to try, didn’t he? Even with the current state of the country, information could pass the borders. He would send as many letters as he needed to, and when they’ll reach the orphanage he’ll find a way to convince the director to let him do as he wished. It was a pity the internet wasn’t operational yet. He wasn’t too happy at the idea of having to wait decades before being able to send an e-mail, but what else could he do. Mischa shyly tugged his sleeve.

“I didn’t know we had an uncle,” she whispered in his ear.

“You will meet him soon. Are you finished?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s go wash ourselves then.”

Later, as Mischa prepared for bed, Hannibal focused on the letter. He had to write to them without compromising himself and the knowledge he had from his past life. He wasn’t even supposed to know about Uncle Robert’s existence; and most certainly not about Lady Murasaki. In the end, the letter was rather simple, informing of the death of their parents and asking for help. After checking with Anna, he put the complete address of the orphanage. In his past life, he had been sent to what had been the Lecter Manor. However it had been an orphanage for boys and he had already made very clear he would not be separated from Mischa. It meant he would have to dwelve into uncharted territory, but that didn’t worry him.

Sleep was hard to come by. He stayed awake for a long time, Mischa plastered to him, her little nose buried in his neck.

He found for the first time since waking up to the fast that he missed his past life. It wasn’t perfect –nothing without Mischa would ever be perfect- but it had been very close to it. It had even been… fun. He was proud of what he had managed to build, for the time it had lasted. Even Will’s complete betrayal hadn’t lessened what they had achieved for a while.

He was going to miss the chase. Looking at Mischa, he didn’t regret his decision one iota and yet still…There was nothing on this earth that could offer the rush of killing someone. Even his presently small hands knew it and starved for it. However, he would adapt, just like he did every time something happened. Surely the joy of having Mischa didn’t compare to killing and eating the rude.

He embraced his sister and let himself sigh in her hair. The future did seem a bit bleak now, but it didn’t really matter. After all, he had lived a full life with no regrets. It was time to concentrate all of himself to Mischa. She would become an accomplished woman and he was going to offer her the world on a silver plate, even if he couldn’t kill anyone to get it. There were so many other ways to bend the world as he saw fit…

Somewhere along his thoughts, he fell asleep without realizing it.

  ****


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Ik for her wonderful beta work!

 

As expected, the orphanage was a miserable place to be. Smaller than their manor, but big enough to house fifty children of all ages and the staff. The director’s office was ostensibly rich, the furniture an insult to common sense and good taste. Hannibal didn’t let his emotions show as he was presented to the director, Mischa hidden behind his back. The man who had driven them from the inn left the office with Anna, who had been kind enough to accompany them, even though the ride lasted two hours. She left them with a soft kiss and a sad smile. Had Hannibal any way to thank her for her kindness, he would have done it; as it was, he could only wait for the rude director to stop reading his book.

His hands shook with the need to remind the director of his place on earth.

“So. Two children, found in the middle of a storm. How did you find yourselves in that situation, kids?”

Hannibal pondered the merit of answering him. On one hand, it would be a good idea to have the director of this establishment on his side; on the other hand, it was extremely rude not to present themselves before beginning a conversation.

It didn’t matter, anyway; he took too long and the director started frowning. He clucked his tongue and stood up.

“So this is how it is going to be, hum? I see. Follow me.”

He briskly walked out of the room, without looking if they were following him. Hannibal took Mischa’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile. She worried at her lip and stuck to him, refusing to move, so he took her in his arms and walked after the director.

The director (who was named Adomaitis, as Hannibal heard from a passing teacher) didn’t show them the orphanage as much as he walked down to a single purpose: the dormitory. Hannibal still kept himself attentive, taking note in the back of his mind of every room, every hallway, every crook they passed over.

Mischa was light in his arms, getting slowly drowsy. She had slept during their long ride but it had been an uneasy sleep, where she started alert every ten minutes to cling desperately to Hannibal. She probably felt unsafe because of all their movements. Ever since they fled their manor, back when their parents were still alive, she may have developed a disposition for abandonment issues. It wasn’t a good thing to keep a child unattached to a place.

Hannibal tightened his grasp. He would become her anchor, with time. No matter how many times they would change places, he would be there.

“This is the girl dormitory.” Adomaitis sent him an aloof look. “Give her to one of the girls, she’ll take care of her.”

“No.”

It was the first word Hannibal had spoken since he woke up. The director looked like he wanted to strike him for the opposition.

“She can’t stay with you, she’s a girl. We separate boys and girls, here.”

“She’s my sister. I will take care of her.”

Adomaitis rolled his eyes. Hannibal cringed; had he been an adult, in a free world, he would have already started a plan to kill him. As it was, he could only fantasize and keep Mischa close.

“Fine,” the director conceded, “but she still can’t sleep with you.”

“Where’s the boys dormitory?”

“On the other side.” He pointed at a room they could see from the window. It was too far over; if Hannibal wanted to take the shortest way to be with Mischa, he had to go outside and cross over the miserable garden. It wasn’t convenient at all.

He tried to push his luck, even though he knew he was going to get refused. “Isn’t there a room I can take with my sister? We’ll leave in a few months time anyway.”

The director snorted. At his face, Hannibal guessed a lot of the children thought a family member would come and get them. However, Hannibal had the knowledge of a past life with him; it was a certainty Uncle Robert and Lady Murasaki would come.

As expected, Adomaitis refused. “No favoritism in here. Your sister will sleep with the other girls.”

Hannibal watched Mischa, sound asleep. She wasn’t going to take it well. It didn’t matter, however; he was going to make sure they wouldn’t be separated for long. There had to be some unused room they could turn into a bedroom; all he needed was leverage on the director.

That wouldn’t be too much of a problem, he mused as he watched the director admire himself in the glass. He caught his gaze and smirked. No problem at all.

\--

The rest of the day had been rather calm. There were classes, separated by the ages of six to nine, ten to fourteen and finally fifteen to eighteen, while younger children were taken care of by some teachers. Hannibal predicted absolute boredom in classes; he had to look up if he could skip it. As for the food, it was dreadful. Even with the little they got from the Soviet government, it could be better with proper care and cooking. _This_ , he thought as he poked at the potatoes, was the work of someone who gave up. 

As expected, Mischa wouldn’t leave his side and made a fit when it was time for bed. One of the oldest girls, a teenager of sixteen years named Agnes, tried to coax her to bed with sweet smiles and a story, but Mischa wouldn’t have it. Hannibal felt rather proud at her attachment; however, he had to set his plans in motions.

“How about _I_ tell you a story?” he whispered in her ear, as if it was a secret.

Mischa hesitated. She was a smart girl; she had understood she had to sleep by herself now and was only making a fuss to make a point. She sniffed a bit dramatically and demanded two stories and a kiss, which Hannibal granted without any complain. One of the teachers let him enter the room and stayed by the door to wait for him to finish.

“Only for tonight,” she warned him.

As he told Mischa the story of Blue Beard (and tried to desperately remember another one), he noticed the other girls in the dormitory were listening to him, tucked in their bed. They were captivated, holding their breath at his every word. Some of them were watching Mischa with envy; others were looking at him, something akin to fervor in their eyes. He counted silently in his head. Eighteen girls. Eighteen girls, of all age, were turned to him and listening to him, each buried in their bed in search of warmth and safety.

They were starving for affection and attention.

It didn’t matter, apparently, that it seemed he was only nine years old. He behaved and stood like an adult; he talked with the authority of one, and took care of Mischa like one. He could see in their eyes the desperate need to be loved and cherished, just like Mischa. It was a blessing and a curse –taking advantage of this need would be more than beneficial, but he didn’t have time to manipulate each one of them. He had to think about it. For now, he had another story to tell.

What fairy tale used to tell his mother? He couldn’t remember. With years, he had deliberately stopped thinking about her. Fortunately, Mischa unknowingly came to the rescue with a yawn.

“I want _Eglė žalčių karalienė._ ” Egle, the Queen of Serpents. Of course. It had been his favorite, as a lad. At some point, his mother had been sick of telling it time after time and had given him the book to read by himself. When Mischa was born, he used to tell her every night, without failure. How could he have forgotten that?

How many other things did he forget?

After Mischa had fallen asleep, after he wished a good night to the girls and to the teacher, after he had taken place in his bed amongst the other boys, he contemplated the ceiling. His heart hurt and he was cold. The boys’ snoring were awfully distracting. Every so often, one of them would cough or move in their bed.

He missed his house. Baltimore had been heaven of earth. As soon as he was a legal adult, he would move back in with Mischa. She would love it; silent, refined, and warm. Nothing like _this_.

As he was near the door, he could hear the guardian’s movements. He passed by their door only once, near midnight, and then it was quiet. The teacher assigned to the dorm had a room in front of them. His light went off shortly after the guardian’s passage. It was perfect; he could sneak out anytime and never get caught, as long as he came back before sunrise.

He tested the floor; a bit creaking but avoidable with large steps. As for the door, it didn’t make a sound when it opened. He went to the bathroom, situated at the end of the hallway, and came back without anyone even waking up.

This was even too easy.

He went to bed, with the clear idea of sleeping until the sunrise. However, he was still awake at four in the morning. His heart still hurt, to his consternation, and he was still feeling cold. Maybe he was coming down with something; he’d have to look into it in the morning.

What about Mischa? Was she also sick? What if something happened to her while he was there? It was a female teacher with them, wasn’t it? But even women were able to hurt children…

What if something happened to her while he wasn’t there?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hannibal had stood up and left the dormitory. As silently as possible, he crossed over the hallways, hugging the walls. By memory, he reached the girls dormitory. He only wanted to make sure Mischa was alright. Maybe she had woken up. Maybe she was crying for him and he didn’t know. He shouldn’t have waited so long to get down there…

He opened the door. No crying, that was good. Slowly, he reached her bed, located right in the middle of the room, near a window. She was sleeping peacefully, her small hand gripping the blanket. Hannibal sighed. He looked around; everybody was sleeping. The dorm was quieter than the boys’, even though some girls were also snoring. Mischa mumbled in her sleep.

He didn’t want to go to bed, now that he was there. Carefully, he laid besides his sister, who immediately curled into the new source of warmth. He kissed her temple and closed his eyes.

Ten seconds later, he was sound asleep.

\--

Some hours later, a scream woke him up.

A child was pointing to him and screaming something about a boy in the girls’ room. Embarrassingly, it took him a while to remember where he was and why he shouldn’t be there; long enough for Mischa to wake up and to hug him good morning. She seemed happy to discover her big brother apparently hadn’t left her during the night. He sat up and stretched.

“You should go before Miss Katarina comes in,” advised their immediate neighbor. “She’ll punish you if she sees you in here.”

But it was too late. The teacher, Miss Katarina, was at the door and looking at him with murder in her eyes. Mischa whimpered against him and hid under his arm.

“A boy!” she shrieked. She came to him and violently took him by his biceps. “Out of here, you little pervert! OUT!”

Hannibal almost growled. A pervert? Not only these kids were way too young for him, but he had always respected female’s privacy. However he quickly remembered he was in a child’s body, at an age where boys typically started to get sexually curious. He couldn’t fault the teacher for thinking this.

A voice cut the tension.

“What is going on in here?”

“Sir!”

Adomaitis was standing at the door. Smirking at Hannibal, he quickly entered the room, amidst the mess of girls who ran away from Hannibal and Miss Katarina. Mischa stuck to her brother, terrified.

“Well, well. Only arrived, and already posing problems.”

“I came to wake up my sister,” he lied.

He could see from behind the director a girl going to contradict him, but another girl crushed her feet and hissed to stay quiet.

“There are other girls to do that. They’ll take care of your sister.”

“I said I was going to take care of her. She’s my sister and my responsibility.”

He maintained his gaze with the director, with all the authority he gained in his forty-eight years of life. He got on his feet, as tall as his body could possibly be and stood his ground. Shoulders tight. Back straight. Hands on his hips.

He could see the moment he won over Miss Katarina. She blushed and her eyes humidified; she glanced at Mischa and smiled proudly at her. Adomaitis, however, only seemed to get angrier and angrier. It didn’t matter; as of now, a teacher and a good numbers of the girls were on his side. He only needed to get some more in the staff and support from the boys before topping the director’s authority without any problem.

“In the dining room, now.”

A sense of foreboding filled Hannibal. He didn’t like where this was going,  but he couldn’t do anything but comply to the order.

As soon as the rest of the children entered the dining room, Hannibal knew what was going to happen. He looked for the girl, Agnes, who had taken Mischa’s hand when Hannibal had been forced in the middle of the room. He caught her gaze and tried to make her understand to leave with Mischa; fortunately, the girl was blessed with a brain and complied quickly. She slipped out unseen, pulling his little sister along.

“May that serve you as a lesson.”

The first hit wasn’t a surprise and yet still hurt. The director had taken a long wooden stick and beat him with it for a solid ten minutes before declaring he had enough. He couldn’t feel his shoulders anymore, nor his neck. Students were avoiding his eyes, grimacing in sympathy at the pain. It didn’t matter, however. His body wasn’t yet used to pain, but it would come with time.

“As a punition, you will help in the kitchen every day, for a whole month,” declared the director, circling around him. “If we ever see you again around the girls’ dormitory, the next beating will be longer and far more painful. Have I made myself clear?”

Hannibal sent him a glare. He was actually feeling elated at the _punishment_ ; however he couldn’t let him know that working in the kitchen was the best thing that could ever happen to him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now everyone run along!”

\--

The kitchen was too small for the entirety of the staff. They kept running into each other, talking and gossiping and spilling everything onto the ground. The hygiene was mediocre at best and none of the silverware was correctly washed. Hannibal forced himself to breathe carefully, as to not let anyone see his utter disgust. Maybe before taking over the orphanage, he should take over the kitchen first.

He couldn’t let Mischa eat… whatever they were cooking.

“You. Kid.” A woman signaled him over. “Take this and stir.”

She handed him a ladle and left him without another word. He peeked in the pan; apparently, the poor woman was trying to make some sort of soup. Leek soup, if the smell was to be believed, but at this point Hannibal wasn’t sure he truly wanted to trust his nose. He stirred and looked around himself for anything that could improve the sleazy mixture.

He didn’t find anything to improve the meal, but he did get to observe the relationships and power dynamics in the kitchen. It was fairly obvious that the woman who gave him the ladle was the head chef; as the day passed by, Hannibal learnt a lot about her. Firstly, her name was Mrs Tatjana and she gracefully accepted Mischa’s presence in the kitchen, as long as she didn’t get under anyone’s feet. Secondly, she wasn’t a talkative woman; something that Hannibal appreciated in a human being. Thirdly, she was hugely frustrated with the shortcomings of her kitchen. And lastly, she quickly realized his vast knowledge in cooking and actually listened to his suggestions.

By the end of the day, she had promptly named him second-in-command and demanded his presence every day, even after the month-long punishment. Hannibal accepted, of course, and they sealed the deal with a cup of bland tea. Over the course of the next week, they would finish their day the same way, without talking much if not for ways to improve the kitchen and the meals. That was how Hannibal learnt that the director used the money for himself instead of buying food and kitchenware; how the children didn’t have enough books or clothes because Adomaitis was a pig of the highest order. Mrs Tatjana hated him, without ever directly saying it, even if the entire staff agreed with her. The orphanage hadn’t gone well for years and he was to blame.

At night, Hannibal would mourn the days he could kill whenever he wanted. More often than not, murderous urges would take over his body and he would need a minute or two to take his composure back. If only he could kill Adomaitis, his days would improve by a threshold; as it was, he needed to make plans.

The solution unexpectedly happened on a Wednesday, only four days after his arrival.

Mrs Tatjana had asked him to wake up early and come down help her for the food truck arrival. It was a weekly drop-off and she needed hands to store and count what they received. This was why at five in the morning, Hannibal was shaking from the cold, patiently waiting at the gates for the truck. He missed Mischa’s warmth; even with the director’s threat, he had managed to slip into his sister’s bed every night and sleep some hours with her in his arms. He always took a great care to never leave any indication of his presence; he would come when everybody were already asleep and leave way before sunrise. It made him a bit more tired than necessary, but it was worth it.

The sound of tires screeching made him start. The truck was there.

“Open the gates, kid.”

He obeyed Mrs Tatjana. It was a quick affair; they emptied the truck with the help of the driver and another man who was with him. Then as Mrs Tatjana discussed with the man about the next week stock, Hannibal observed the driver take a sheet enveloped case and walk inside the building with it.

He waited until they were alone to quietly question Mrs Tatjana about it.

“Nobody knows,” she whispered in kind, seemingly detached. “Something personal for the director.”

That was promising.

\--

It took him another two days to be able to discover the secrets of the covered case. He entrusted Mischa with Agnes again, to whom Mischa had taken a shine to, and another young girl.

As always, the director’s office was empty in the late afternoon. Every day at five, he would go out to the village nearby and would come back for dinner. It gave Hannibal a little under two hours to take everything he needed to know. He began with the papers. As expected, Adomaitis was stealing money from the orphanage. He didn’t even bother to mask it under vague expenses. Hannibal doubted he could seriously blackmail him with this, since it was such an open secret and that he couldn’t contact the only ones who would care.

No, he should investigate more about the mysterious case. He found it after twenty minutes, hidden under the parquet, just under the desk. With trepidation, he opened and… actually got surprised.

Adomaitis, if the papers inside the case were to be believed, was part of the revolutionary movement. He was working against the URSS and for the independence of Lithuania. Against all odds, Hannibal felt kind of impressed. Then, he remembered that for all of Adomaitis’ activism, he was still a shit of an orphanage director, and that would simply not do.

He closed the case after reading all of the documents and hid it in its place again. That would be a good leverage against the man. Of course, he simply couldn’t tell him Lithuania would regain his independence in the early nineties; he had to make him quake in his boots. Thoughtful, he sat in the chair. It was comfortable. He would take it once he made the orphanage his.

He checked the time; he still had a good half an hour before he had to go back to Mischa. He drummed his fingers on the wood.

Mischa… Mischa had slowly started to get used to her new environment. Even though she still stuck to Hannibal and still demanded stories before sleeping, she started to interact with the kitchen staff and some girls in the dorm. There were no other girls her age, but there was a seven year-old she couldn’t seem to stop staring at. Hannibal found it unbearably cute. It was the first time his sister attempted a friendship in her life.

If his affection blended with hints of jealousy, well, no one was the wiser.

Anyway; she was probably playing with Agnes and that seven-year-old girl, while he was busy investigating. Or maybe not, it was time for the girls to do their homework. Poor Mischa was probably bored out of her mind by now. Hannibal let himself chuckle; she got restless when she was bored, couldn’t stay in place for more than ten minutes. It was cute, in its own way. He had never had the chance to observe young children, before. He was way more interested in the mind of malleable adults.

He frowned, an unsavory thought interrupting his flow. Mischa was sometimes _too_ restless; what if she had slipped past Agnes’ watching? What if she was wondering by herself in the orphanage? What if she was lost?

Hannibal was immediately out of the office. He couldn’t get more information anyway, so there was no point in staying. Blood was rushing to his head, and his heart was beating too fast –

“Hanni!”

Mischa’s delighted voice took him out of his dread. She was running down the hallway towards him and he only had time open his arms before she crashed into him. Agnes was behind, smiling softly, walking at her own pace.

“She wanted to go to the bathroom,” she explained when Hannibal threw her an interrogating look.

“Hanni, where did you go? I wanted to play with you!” She tugged his collar impatiently. “Agnes is working and it’s boring!”

“I’m here now.” He kissed her on the temple. “We can play together, if you want.”

Now and forever, and forever…

\--

That night, Hannibal dreamt of Will.

They were in front of his fireplace, silent and grave. Yet, the air wasn’t heavy, quite the contrary. Hannibal couldn’t take his eyes away from Will, from the way the light would caress his face, the way his hair framed his face. The younger man had his eyes closed, his eyelashes striking against his cheeks. Suddenly, Hannibal wanted to stand up and to touch. Touch him… touch everything.

Then, Will opened his eyes and looked at _him_.

He started awake, breathing too fast. It took him a while to remember he was in Mischa’s bed. He basked in her sweet smell and her warmth before getting up, successfully avoiding disturbing her peaceful sleep. It was already four in the morning; he had to make it back into bed before getting caught.

He hadn’t dreamt of Will since he got Mischa back. He thought about him, sometimes, but he never took over his dreams. Even in the past, he didn’t seem to be able to escape his sweet mind.

He suddenly stopped in the hallway. He was in the past. He was in the _past_ , which meant Will hadn’t died yet. He lived in a world where Will was still alive. Just like he got Mischa back, in a way he got Will too. Will was there, somewhere on this planet, _still alive_.

It was still possible to see him again, to meet him again. He knew where to find him. He could arrange a meeting. He could see him again, without the influence of Jack. Maybe even before he resigned, before even he finished his studies. He didn’t have to wait until the Minnesota Shrike. He could…

But no. He was ten years younger than him, wasn’t he? Will wasn’t born yet. He tried to remember his birth date but nothing came to him. It was in seventy-five; of that he was sure. Which meant… which meant there were still a minuscule chance Will wouldn’t even been born.

Maybe he traded Will for Mischa. Maybe the price of having Mischa back wasn’t his abandon of cannibalism, but Will’s life. Hadn’t the woman said Will wasn’t under her jurisdiction? What did it mean? What did any of this mean?

_Why was he there?_

“Hannibal? Are you alright?”

Hannibal started so hard he made Miss Katarina take a step back. He hadn’t heard her approach him. He stared at her, his mind still fixated on his newfound life and Will. His ears burdened with his heartbeat, his hands were clammy and cold.

Why wasn’t he with Mischa?

“Hannibal?” Miss Katarina bravely came closer again. “What are you doing up, in the middle of the night?” When he didn’t answer, she tried to guess. “Did you want to see your sister?”

Slowly, he nodded. Somehow, even though he had just left her, he needed to see her again and feel her warmth. Shivers had taken over his whole body, without him realizing it. He was so _cold_ … he had to make sure she wasn’t cold either. He followed Miss Katarina, who kept looking at him like he was going to do break in a thousand pieces.

Like he was a teacup on the verge of a table, ready to fall down any second now.

Mischa was still sleeping. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hannibal contemplated her. Carefully, he raised his hand and traced a pattern on her forehead.

_She_ was real. He had to forget Will for a while and focus on Mischa. Mischa, his sweet Mischa, was there, in his arms, as real as the rest of the world. He couldn’t let himself forget that. 

Miss Katarina was waiting for him when he finally decided to let his sister alone. She seemed a bit sleepy, but determined to talk with Hannibal. Without a word, he followed her in her room. It was modestly decorated; none of the gross exaggeration of the director’s office was to be found in here. Her desk was covered in books in Russian and some in Lithuanian. Hannibal stood at the center of her room, waiting for an invitation to sit. Mrs Katarina didn’t disappoint him and offered up her bed.

After a minute of silence, she opened the conversation.

“How are you faring, Hannibal?”

“Fine.” In comparison to his last time in an orphanage, this time around was close to perfect… for him. Nothing less than actual perfection was accepted for Mischa.

“What about Mischa?”

“She’s fine.”

Miss Katarina hummed. They looked at each other. The sky was slowly getting clearer and clearer; in an hour time, the orphanage would wake up and start another bleak day. The kitchen would heat up, the classroom would open –and him, Hannibal, would slowly get by, bored out of his mind.

“Listen, Hannibal.” Mrs Katarina seemed to gather all of her determination. “I think it’s admirable how much you take care of your sister. Not a lot of children would have been able to do it as well as you.”

There was an underlying “but”, somewhere in there.

“But,” she continued, unaware of Hannibal’s internal smirk. “I think you should leave her alone, from now on.”

Suddenly, his ears deafened. Ice crept up his back. He could see Miss Katarina continuing talking but he couldn’t apprehend her words. His grip tightened on his knees. His heartbeat skyrocketed; his body started shivering out of cold, and his breathing… God, he couldn’t breathe anymore.

He was panicking. He was panicking and he didn’t know what to do. He had distant memories of giving advice to his patients, but none of them came back to him.

He had to make her awful words disappear. It was her fault, it was because of her sick ideas and fake compassion. Nobody could take Mischa away from him, nobody had the _right_ , Mischa was _his_ and he gave up everything to have her back and nobody could take her, nobody, nobody!

A gurgle resonated in his ears. Strangely, Miss Katarina was whiter than death. She was wheezing –probably because there were hands around her neck, strangling her. Small hands. Children hands.

_His_ hands.

He let her go like she was burning.

He had been so near to end her life. It was so exulting, it felt so _right_. Miss Katarina painfully coughed and looked at him with fear in her eyes. She shakily backed up against her desk.

“It’s alright,” she rasped. “I’m not –it was just a suggestion. You can stay with your sister. Calm –calm down, alright? Hannibal?”

He exhaled slowly, trying to let his tension peel away. He had to control himself. “Yes. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. He wanted to kill her, he wanted to _kill_ but he couldn’t. _Not anymore._

Miss Katarina faintly nodded. His hands were still shaking but he ignored them. Slowly, he walked to the door and left her.

It wasn’t time to wake Mischa up, but Hannibal felt too exhausted to go back to his bed, in the boy dormitory. For the third time in one night, he entered the girl dorm and went into his sister’s bed. She was still asleep, unconscious to the world and to her brother’s dwelling thoughts. She was so warm, so angelic, so perfect. Hannibal finally stopped shivering.

He was sick of being of this state of affair. It had only been a week since their arrival in the orphanage and he already wanted to get out. He still had no words from Uncle Robert and Lady Murasaki. Ten days since he got Mischa back, and he was already beyond frustrated at his child body and his inability to kill. He understood why the woman had laughed at his face when he had said that no killing was a small price to pay.

He was hungry, he was cold, and he missed the joy of killing _so goddamned much_.

He had to do something.

He had to gain back his power. He had to have the upper hand, to keep Mischa with him.

He had to do something.

He had to do something…

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly, terribly sorry about the delay. You know how it goes -busy life, etc. Thanks all of you for your comments and kudos, it gave me strength as well for my writing than for my irl life! I hope you will all enjoy this new chapter!
> 
> And as always, thanks to my amazing beta Ik <3

**Chapter 5**

Later that day, he was in the director’s office, perspiration on his forehead and a knife clutched in his fingers. Anger was firing up his arms. Repeatedly, he reminded himself not to go too far.

The woman had said not to kill anyone, but she hadn’t said anything about hurting.

Adomaitis was screaming into the handkerchief Hannibal had used to muzzle him. Tied to his chair, he was desperately trying to free himself. Hannibal rolled his eyes at his pathetic attempt and let his knife come closer to the director’s neck. Close enough to scare him, far enough not to actually draw any blood. It was a dangerous game he was playing at, a game he found thrilling after stopping himself for so long from hurting anyone.

“So, do we have a deal?” he murmured into the man’s ear. “You have been trying my nerves, Mr. Director.”

After his… overreaction with Miss Katarina, he had decided to take things into hands by force. No need to blackmail when he could just bend people to his will by force and sheer fear. Thirty years of creative killing certainly helped a lot into the art of torture. He had cornered Adomaitis after lunch, carefully hitting him on the head to render him unconscious. Of course, he had trusted Mischa with Agnes, as always; and he would only get back to her when he finished putting God’s fear into the director. But the man was tenacious; Hannibal had to walk the fine line between hurting and hurting. He had to make him believe he could kill him and that the only reason he was still alive was of the greatness of his heart.

“I will take the fold off, now. Make sure to answer in one word, yes? We wouldn’t want to discover how far I am ready to go to get my own room, would we?”

He waited the time of a blink then took the cloth off. The director inhaled a shaky breath and nodded. He was terrified. Hannibal could easily understand it –after all, it wasn’t everyday that a nine-year-old would reveal themselves to be sadists able to successfully torture an adult.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Yes. Yes, you’ll have it.”

“More than one word, but I’ll take it.”

Hannibal straightened up and safely put away his knife. He slowly cleaned some of the cuts he made on the man’s arm, each getting closer and closer to his wrist. He wanted to lap at the blood but he hadn’t fallen that far down. Satisfied, he carefully detached one hand, trusting him to do the rest by himself. He quickly considered the other wounds he’s made; they were all shallow and easy for the director to treat himself.

“My room has to be ready for tonight, Adomaitis. I expect my sister to sleep on sheets that won’t make her itch.” He patted his cheek. “Good boy.”

“You’re a demon.” The director spat, his last thread of bravery coming out.

Hannibal smirked.

“Then make sure not to anger me anymore.”

\--

That night, Mischa whined about having to move out of the dorm. She had started to get an attachment to the other girls. Hannibal wished he could tell her she deserved more than pathetic girls with daddy issues as friends, but he still needed their support. In the end, he just took her in his arms and walked out, under the distressing eyes of the girls.

She cried to sleep. She even refused to have him on their new bed, calling him a “meanie” who was “ugly and stinky”. He tried not to get too offended at her poor insults. He stayed on the ground the whole night, shivering against the wood. The room was a bit warmer than the dorm, but it was still freezing. It was big enough for a desk and a chair; he could see himself teaching her to write and read soon.

He coughed. His rib cage was stifling him. Maybe if he moved up to the bed slowly enough, Mischa wouldn’t wake up. Her furnace of a body would be a great help to his shivering body, but he didn’t want to get her sick too… and he didn’t want to break her trust. Her misty eyes and the way she avoided his touch kept coming back to him. He’d have to ask for forgiveness in the morning.

He slept poorly and woke up even poorer. His throat was clogging up. Mischa was watching him, frowning and pursing her lips.

“Are you still angry?” he whispered, rubbing his sternum. He tried to make his voice as smooth as possible.

“Yes.” She turned up her nose to him. If he hadn’t felt so bad, he would have found it hilariously adorable.

“If we read stories together with your friends tonight, will you still be angry?”

Mischa hesitated. It seemed like a sweet deal, to her mind. “I… I don’t know.”

“We could do it every night. I’ll tell all of you a story then we’ll come and sleep here.”

“But why? I want to stay with them!” She started tearing up again. Hannibal sat up with difficulty and took hold of the covers.

“Mischa… don’t you want to be with your big brother?”

“Yes, of course,” she sniffed. Hannibal couldn’t ignore how his heart swelled at her admission.

“I can’t stay with girls, Mischa. I’m a boy, and boys don’t sleep in the same room as girls.”

“But…” she frowned. “I’m a girl, too!”

“Yes, but you’re my sister. It’s not the same thing.”

She was confused. It didn’t make sense to her childish mind, where boys and girls were the same.

“So, you can’t sleep with girls anymore?”

“No. But I can sleep with you.”

Mischa tortured the cover between her little hands. She sniffed again then finally accepted his logic.

“I want two stories.”

“Alright.”

“And I want a pie.”

He smiled. “Alright. Two stories and a pie.”

“An apple pie!” she precised, a very serious frown upon her face. “And…” She worried her lip.

“What about a hug? Now?”

She happily nodded and threw herself in his arms. He was feeling better already. Having his sister mad at him wasn’t a good feeling, and he wasn’t used to feeling that sort of uneasiness –like someone was squishing his heart and playing with his intestines. He sighed and took her for a bath.

\--

For the next two months, life got exponentially better. Out of fear, the director stayed out of Hannibal’s way, which made it way easier to manipulate the orphanage as his playground. He took finance in hand and suddenly, there was a new arrival of better food and better clothes. The teachers were happy enough to get new books and not question any of it; the only person, really, who knew the truth, was Miss Katarina, and she was still avoiding him. Ever since he accidentally attacked her in her room, she had kept a wide range around him. Hannibal didn’t particularly care, anyway; she had served her purpose when he still had to go to the girls dorm in the middle of the night undetected.

His only problem, as far as he was concerned, was Mischa’s reticence in her schooling. Naturally, as a child, she preferred running around and playing instead of learning how to read and write. He had to resort in vague menaces of stopping telling her bedtime stories to make her sit at her desk every day for an hour or two. Her little tears would almost make him budge if he hadn’t been essentially a psychopath in the body of a child.

Nobody wondered out loud why he was way past his peers, education wise. Nobody questioned his maturity. Nobody talked to him, actually. They all felt, may it be unconscious or not, the danger he presented. Even the girls, who previously would turn to him like sunflowers to the sun, had taken to avoiding his gaze.

It was better that way, but it meant nobody approached Mischa either. He wouldn’t care if it didn’t make her so obviously miserable. Even Agnes and the seven year-old girl (whom Hannibal still hadn’t learned the name of) had stopped searching her out to play together.

He had wondered for a moment if he should blackmail them into reforming their friendship with Mischa, but figured it was too much trouble. They were going to leave anyway; better not to let her be too attached.

As a result, their days were pretty lonesome.

Well actually, there was a person still talking with Hannibal. Mrs Tatjana didn’t care for whatever was going on in the orphanage, as long as she could cook. She was happy of the new arrival of food, but didn’t say a single word about it. She and Hannibal continued to work alongside and have their tea at the end of the day, silent more often than not. Sometimes, she would say –

“Need some turnips next week.”

-and Hannibal would comply. No matter what she asked, he tried to give it to her. Sometimes, she would pat his shoulder, a small smile gracing her old lips, then get to work. As for Mischa, she was often quietly playing in her corner, paying no attention at all to them. Cooking, it seemed, didn’t hold any interest at all to her.

Truthfully, that made Hannibal a bit disappointed. He would have loved to teach Mischa to cook. Maybe it would come with time…

These moments in the kitchen were the only times where Hannibal would truly find a bit of solace. Obviously it wasn’t the same as his kitchen in Baltimore, but it was better than nothing. It was a safe and calm place, where he could let his tension fly away and finally focus on one single thing that wasn’t Mischa. He had forgot, somehow, how stressful it was to take care of a small child.

And then as if it wasn’t enough, the boys had started to get on his nerves.

It all began with an incident, soon after Hannibal got his room. It all began with an incident, soon after Hannibal got his room. The boys, who until then had royally ignored Hannibal, started to get jealous and would taunt him in the hallways. Hannibal didn’t care one iota and would internally laugh at their pathetic attempt to look stronger than they were.

That was, he didn’t care until they made the mistake to target Mischa.

It happened during dinner. Mischa was gleefully hopping in front of him to their table, singing some nonsense about rabbits and spring, Hannibal following her. Suddenly, Mischa fell down with a scream of surprise, and a foot retracted to its smirking owner.

He should have known better.

That was what Hannibal told himself, as he took the teenager’s head and threw it violently to the table. The crack was satisfying, as was the cries of his mates around them. Hannibal pinned him with all his strength, taking care of immobilizing the teenager’s arm behind his back.

“Touch her one more time and I will kill you.”

His voice was colder than ice. Silence was reigning in the dining room, people frozen in their seats. The boy’s peers were even leaning away from him.  The boy tried to struggle; Hannibal strengthened his grip to the point of pain.

“Have I made myself clear?”

The boy let out a pathetic whine and desperately nodded. When Hannibal let him go, he realized the boy was bleeding from his forehead. He hadn’t measured his strength…

As the boy was taken away to the infirmary, Hannibal cringed internally; what if he had accidentally killed the boy? He felt absolutely foolish. Mischa had only fell down and he had grossly overreacted. He should pay more attention, lest his sister be taken away because of his newly uncontrolled emotions.

Hannibal turned to Mischa and froze at her terrified expression. She was still on the ground, petrified by the violence her brother just demonstrated.

Slowly, Hannibal extended his hand to her. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

She didn’t answer, just sent him an indiscernible look before getting up on her own and sitting at her usual place. She didn’t react when Hannibal sat beside her, as usual. Life returned to the dining room, with murmurs and stolen glances at the siblings.

Mischa’s silence was deafening. She pretended Hannibal wasn’t here, eating and drinking while staring stubbornly at her plate. Their only interaction was her constant putting of her glass near the edge, and Hannibal moving it away so it wouldn’t break. It drove Hannibal mad to see the glass so close to falling, but he wisely shut up and waited for Mischa to forgive and forget his outburst.

Luckily for him, Mischa was of a forgiving nature and after her nightly stories, patted his arm and accepted his hug.

Unluckily for him, the boys weren’t so much of a forgiving nature, and made themselves to be nuisance.

They quickly realized that as long as Mischa was in the vicinity, Hannibal wouldn’t do anything. So they would taunt him, often in Russian so Mischa wouldn’t understand, and Hannibal would ignore them. It wasn’t too much of a problem –Hannibal was, after all, an adult.

However, on the rare times Hannibal managed to get them on his own, he would take great pleasure in beating them. He had realized he lost all of his coordination when he got his child body back, but none of his knowledge; subsequently, sparring with the teenagers have proved to be a wonderful way to train physically. Soon enough, they started to avoid him until they were absolutely sure he was with Mischa.

All in all, his life was quite great, if a bit boring.

\--

Then, it came to an abrupt end, only ten weeks after their arrival.

“I have a letter for you, Lecter,” announced Adomaitis with a huge grin, opening his bedroom door without even knocking. “You can already prepare your bags.”

Hannibal frowned and took the letter. The director seemed way too happy, and after reading the letter he understood why. Uncle Robert was on his way to get him and Mischa.

“This was quick,” he mused.

“I may or may have not looked around to get you out of here quick.” The director was still smiling, almost so happy he would jump up and down. “Soon, everything will be normal again.”

Hannibal almost rolled his eyes and made motions for the director to leave him alone, then read the letter again.

It was a fairly vague letter, rather impersonal; exactly as was his uncle in the other life. It said that Uncle Robert would arrive sometime during the week to take him and Mischa to Paris. Enough time to bow his affairs over in the orphanage and leave instructions to Mrs Tatjana and Miss Katarina. After all, he couldn’t let Adomaitis regain his full power and mess up everything. Smiling, he set himself to the task.

Everything was perfect up until Mischa’s reaction.

“I don’t want to go!”

She was standing on their bed, arms crossed and eyes wet.

“But Mischa, we’ll be with our uncle.”

“I don’t want to!” she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Why? Paris is better than here, you’ll see!”

Mischa jumped up and down of frustration. “No! No!”

“Mischa! Stop this, right this instant!”

He tried to catch her but she gracefully escaped and bolted out of the room. When Hannibal got out, he couldn’t see where she went.

“Mischa! Come back!”

The hallway was empty, as was the rest of the area. The night was slowly starting to fall, which made the visibility going worse as minutes passed. At first Hannibal thought he’d easily find Mischa, since he knew all her favourite spots; but after twenty minutes he had to admit defeat. He couldn’t find her.

He couldn’t find her.

He tried desperately to stop his voice quivering while he rose up all the other children and the staff to search with him. He completely ignored the grumbling and ordered them around. It should take only some minutes, Mischa couldn’t have run that far. She was just a brat who didn’t like seeing her world changing too much in one go.

After an hour, he let himself panic. The old fear to find her dead took over his mind and he kept seeing her little lifeless body everywhere. Any blond hair would make him hope; any squeaky voice would make him turn his head and look for his dearly little sister. At some point, somebody took his hand and would periodically squeeze it, as if to make him come back to earth. Without looking at who it was, Hannibal knew her to be Miss Katarina. He let her reassure him, then took his hand away. He didn’t need her pity.

Then, they found her in the garden’s shed.

It was one of the boys, unexpectedly, who called Hannibal over. The children left to bed, snickering over the whole ordeal; if Hannibal didn’t know he would leave soon anyway, he would have put them in their place. As it was, he only ran to Mischa’s side.  

She was crouching and drawing nonsense in the dirt, hidden in the dark side of the shed, completely absorbed in her world.

“Mischa?”

She loudly sniffed.

“Mischa, please, look at me.” She continued ignoring him. “Do you really not want to go to Paris with me?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“Is it because you’re tired of moving? Or is it because you don’t want to leave your friends?”

“I don’t know… Both...,” she whispered.

“We’ll stop moving after Paris, I promise. You’ll make plenty of other friends.”

“But I don’t want others!” she started crying again.

Slowly, he reached to her and she responded to his touch, throwing herself into his arms. He rocked her, petting her back while she cried. For some reason, Mischa started calling for their parents. He tried to hush her, but she couldn’t stop, so he let her cry all her tears out.

It was nearly night when she started talking again. They were still in the shed, him sitting on the floor and her on his lap.

“Do you miss mommy and daddy, too?” she asked, her little fingers playing with his collar.

He sighed internally. The truth was, he didn’t… but he couldn’t say that to his sister, could he? His parents were a distant memory, buried in the deepness of his mind for decades. Was it decades already? Or was he slowly getting crazier, making up memories where Mischa was dead and he grew up to be alone, alone, alone…

But Will was there, for a while. He hadn’t felt so alone, when Will was in his office.

“Yes. I miss them,” he finally replied weakly.

“Do you cry?”

Her question made him frown. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I think it’s ok to cry when you’re sad.” She declared, sure of herself. “I’m sad when I think of mommy and daddy.”

He paused, unsure of what to ask next. “Are you often sad?”

“Uh, uh.” She patted his cheek and yawned. After a bit of moving, she found the best position to sleep. “But you’re here, so it’s alright.”

He kissed the top of her head. She fell asleep and he continued to rock her, until Mrs Katarina found them, still sitting on the floor, hours later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, another change of scenery. Will Hannibal ever be able to control his emotions again? Will Mischa finally get a stable life? We'll see soon with the next chapter!


End file.
